


nothing quite like living on the edge

by thessalonike (starblessed)



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV 2020)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Caleb Covington Has No Rights, Canon Compliant, Dark Magic, Gen, Mind Control, Missing Scene, Non-Graphic Violence, Partial Mind Control, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29517375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starblessed/pseuds/thessalonike
Summary: For a long moment, the three members of Sunset Curve can’t even bring themselves to run. They only stand there, paralyzed, as the entire room applauds a performance they didn’t actually play.“I mean  ---  wedidn’t,right?” Reggie asks later. He hugs himself with velvet-clad arms, as though scared of his body betraying him again. His voice is thin, afraid. “It wasn’t us playing. We... we couldn’t stop, it wasn’t our choice ---”Alex is on the floor, knees drawn close to his chest. His head is in his hands, long fingers tangled through cornsilk hair. He doesn’t look up.“I couldn’t control my body,” Reggie finishes, in a very small voice.----------After "Nothing To Lose", the boys are trapped at Caleb's club... and Caleb isn't finished with them yet.
Relationships: Alex Mercer & Julie Molina & Luke Patterson & Reggie Peters
Comments: 16
Kudos: 108





	nothing quite like living on the edge

**Author's Note:**

> a few quick warnings in this fic for : Caleb Covington in general, but also elements of non-con manipulation / mind control (sort of? i mean, it's their bodies, their minds are very much fine, which is almost _worse_ let's be real --- )
> 
> there's nothing sexual in this, just caleb being a general creep.

By the time Caleb’s song reaches its grand finale, self-control is trickling back to them… slowly, slowly, like the reverberation of the final notes. As soon as the music falls silent, power returns to the band all at once. Luke drops his guitar like it’s on fire. Reggie gapes out on the applauding audience like they’re screaming in a language he doesn’t comprehend. Alex’s chest heaves, harsh and uneven, ten seconds away from a panic attack. 

But there’s no time for that. Not here, not on stage. For a long moment, the three members of Sunset Curve can’t even bring themselves to run. They only stand there, paralyzed, as the entire room applauds a performance they didn’t actually play.

“I mean - we _didn’t_ , right?” Reggie asks later, in the dressing room, after they have been ushered back-stage by Caleb’s insistent maître’d. He hovers by the vintage couch, hugging himself with velvet-clad arms, as though scared of his body betraying him again. Black satin butterflies flutter across his heaving chest. His voice is thin, frightened. “It wasn’t us playing. We... we couldn’t stop, it wasn’t our choice -”

Alex is on the floor, knees drawn close to his chest. His head is in his hands, long fingers tangled through cornsilk hair. He doesn’t look up.

“I couldn’t control my body,” Reggie finishes, in a very small voice.

Of course, they’re all in the same boat. They all just went through the exact same thing; their limbs still tingle with the aftereffects of whatever power Caleb had over them. Luke’s got more important things on his mind, though.

He rips open the dressing room door - for the fifth time in as many minutes - and rushes through it. A second later, he pops out from the closet on the other side of the room. A pink boa trails after him, bright feathers caught in his hair. Every time, it’s the exact same thing; they try to leave, and end up right where they started.

“Julie,” Luke hisses, tossing away feathers in disgust. “We gotta get to Julie -”

“Yeah, but how?” Reggie demands. In spite of his best efforts, his voice quavers.

Alex shakes his head, just enough to prove he’s still in there. Luke does a tiny pivot on his heels - trying to poof, and failing miserably - before throwing up his arms with a snarl. 

“That’s not gonna work, man, we’ve already —“

“I don’t _care_ what we’ve tried to do already!” Luke rounds on him, face twisted. Reggie flinches back on instinct, prepared for a blow that doesn’t come. Of course not — Luke hardly ever raises his voice in anger, let alone lashes out. None of them are in their right mind tonight. Their heads aren’t screwed on straight.

“We’ve gotta get out of here!” Luke carries on, too distracted to notice Reggie’s reaction, or Alex slowly lifting his head. “Julie’s out there at the Orpheum, _waiting_ for us, and this _creep_ —“

He swings a fist through the open doorway. It doesn’t vanish, doesn’t pop out of the closet behind them. Luke’s just desperate enough to take the bait. He ventures one foot over the threshold, then the other… and a second later, emerges from the closet, cursing.

“Wow,” Reggie sighs. “Plot twist.”

“He’s not going to let us leave.”

It’s the first time Alex has spoken up since the show. His voice comes out hoarse, grated raw by the force of his suppressed panic; he drags a hand through his hair, forcing his head back, and stares up at the ceiling. In the light, his eyes look very dark, very empty.

“He’s got us right where he wants us… you really think he’s going to let us go now? We played right into his hands. We joined his band.”

“No,” Luke insists, voice bleeding fury. “ _No,_ we didn’t! We didn’t sign anything, didn’t say yes to anything… just because he used us for our instruments doesn’t mean we’re his.”

 _Used us_. The words ring in Reggie’s ears. His head is pounding like the pulse of Alex’s drums, and he finds himself pacing again, hands wringing restlessly in front of him. It helps to just have something to do — something to distract him, that he’s completely in control of. 

(He couldn’t stop his fingers from moving up on that stage, couldn’t keep his body from swaying or his hands from playing… and the worst part is, a part of him actually _liked it._ The music was in his soul . The cheering crowd was intoxicating. Knowing every single note without trying, feeling it flow out of him like it had a mind of its own... he doesn’t know how it happened, and would _love_ for it to never happen again, thanks — but he can’t get _that feeling_ out of his head.)

When Reggie looks down, he realizes he’s plucking at an invisible base. A tune plays in his head, familiar and seductive. At once, he clamps his hands into fists, and pulls them to his chest.

“Maybe, maybe, maybe not…” Luke’s snapping his fingers, a ball of frenetic energy. He’s never been able to turn it off. God knows he doesn’t know how to slow down when something matters this much. He’ll have to be erased from existence before he gives up on Julie — and suddenly, Reggie’s terrified it will take nothing less. Luke abruptly claps his hands, eyes widening. “Time doesn’t pass right here, remember? Maybe we’re not too late. It might not even be time yet, she might still be…”

“Will you give it a rest?” Reggie can’t help exclaiming. “You’re driving _me_ crazy!”

“Think how Julie’s gotta be feeling!”

From the floor, Alex stirs. Reggie sees it out of the corner of his vision, but he’s too focused on Luke, too drawn in by his best friend’s flame.

“Of course I’m thinking about Julie!” He exclaims, throwing his arms out. One step brings him closer to Luke, and then another; somehow, he still feels too far away. “But Luke, we don’t even know how long we’ve been here… it could be too late! She’s probably just — just _waiting_ for us, and she’ll have no idea where we’ve gone, or _if_ we’ve gone, or if something happened —“

“ _Yeah_ , something’s happened,” Luke scoffs.

“And she just won’t know! She’s just going to think we abandoned her —”

Reggie cuts himself off, taken by surprise when his own voice breaks. Only then does he notice his stinging eyes, the sour lump in his throat. He takes a step back, turning away from his bandmates. They’ve seen him cry before, of course — there’s no shame in it — but everything is different tonight.

“Reggie.”

Even the way Luke says his name’s different.

“Reggie!”

An arm clamps around his shoulders, spinning him around. Reggie has something harsh on his tongue, a retort about _giving a guy space, for once_ — but when he turns, Reggie immediately sees what’s made Luke’s voice sound so strangled.

Alex’s spot on the floor is empty. 

“Wait —“ Reggie says in a small voice. “What?”

“Alex!”

Luke immediately springs for the closet, shoving aside a rack full of vibrant-hued suits. The back of the closet is solid wood, without enough space for a kid to hide, let alone a five-foot-ten drummer in a bright pink tux. Undeterred, Luke hammers on the back of the closet with flat hands, looking for some give, some trick or trapdoor. There’s none to be found. 

“Alex!” Luke hollers, recoiling out of the closet.

It’s not like the dressing room is big enough to hide in. There’s a sofa against the wall — _no Alex there_ — a vanity table and mirror — _Alex isn’t hiding under it_ — and a few cabinets, not big enough to fit anybody. There’s nowhere to hide, nowhere to look.

He's just… gone.

Reggie doesn’t realize he’s shaking — like, full-body, puppy in a thunderstorm quaking — until Luke grabs him by the shoulders. Reggie spots the fear right away. Luke hardly ever lets himself get scared, and even then, never shows it… but they’ve known each other too long. Reggie can’t miss the feverish gleam in his eyes, or the knit to his brow hiding barely suppressed panic. His grip is too fierce, eyes too wide. 

“I don’t get it,” Luke breathes. “Where’d he go?”

* * *

Leaving... seemed like a good idea at the time. That’s the only excuse Alex has..

He didn’t even realize where he was going, or what he was looking for, until his legs were already carrying him away. It was all a haze. None of it — getting up, slipping silently out of the dressing room, down the shadowed hallway — really registered past the whirlwind of his thoughts. His mind was full of a thousand things, circling and circling on a racetrack of paralyzing anxiety — _gotta get out, performing tonight, got to see Julie, these aren’t my clothes, where the hell is Willie_ — and they all just kept spinning, and _spinning_ , until he didn’t know which way was down and which way was up. Remembering to breathe was all he could manage. Alex didn’t want to go _anywhere_ , except home. In lieu of that, he could only stay very still, and hope the nightmare would end soon.

When he realizes he’s on the move, he’s as surprised as anybody else.

Surprised in a distant way, though. Not enough to stop. Not enough to wonder, even. His legs seem to know exactly where he’s going, even if his mind isn’t there yet… and with each step that doesn’t quite feel steady on solid ground, Alex imagines he’s getting closer to Willie.

 _Everything you could ever want,_ Caleb’s voice rings in his head. _Even Willie… even Willie…_

Is he wrong for wanting Willie so much, a deal with the devil almost sounds like a good idea?

Nausea surges within him. Forced to squeeze his eyes shut, Alex tries again to just breathe. He’s not thinking of anything else, or any _one_ … 

So when he opens his eyes to a cool breeze on his face, he’s baffled.

It takes a minute to get his bearings. The night stretches above his head, stars twinkling like spilled glitter on black velvet. It’s LA in autumn, but the breeze still bites, whipping the hair back from his temples. That’s his first clue that they’re up very high… and when he looks down, the City of Angels sprawls miles below. The ground is an impossible distance away. His head spins.

“Alexander.” 

If finding himself on the roof didn’t scare him to death, _that voice_ does the trick. Alex spins away from the roof’s ledge, a boulder in the pit of his stomach.

“I knew you wouldn’t keep me waiting.”

Caleb greets him with a grin. He’s clothed in sable, sparkling just like the stars in the sky; the satin of his cloak highlights the purple embellishments along his waistcoat. When he spreads his arms, hovering in the air, he may as well have wings.

Alex remembers sitting through hours of Sunday School as a little boy. It was mind-numbing, and more often than not left him feeling uneasy in his own skin for ways he couldn't name at the time... but he was always on his best behavior, always attentive. Aside from all that internalized Catholic Guilt, he remembers the _angels_ best. They terrified him. Real angels, he knows, aren't the ones from the Christmas cards. Not all robes and haloes, but creatures from behind this world. Nephilim, distorted from their own holiness; seraphim, who can’t even be looked at by the other angels without their eyes burning from their heads. Angels are supposed to invoke dread in the hearts of mortals. THey haunted Alex's dreams for years, always looming over some deep shame he couldn't name at the time. 

Caleb the furthest thing from angel… but he seems to shimmer as he descends, in his cloud of pitch and starlight. Alex feels that same nightmare-sharp dread. 

Caleb’s wingtip dance shoes land silently on the rooftop. He takes a step forward; Alex shrinks back on instinct. The roof’s edge is behind him, too close to get far. There are no doors that he can see, no way to get onto the rooftop, let alone off.

“How — how did I get here?” He’s horrified at the way his voice trembles. 

“I called. You answered.” Caleb takes another step. Backlit against the sky, the stars above his head glimmer like a real halo. “We do have a _connection_ , after all.”

Suddenly, his wrist burns. Alex wrestles aside the puffy formal sleeves to grip it, and almost draws back at what he sees. Caleb’s mark shines, radium-bright against his skin. This close to the man himself, it pulses with energy.

Before Alex realizes what’s happening, Caleb’s hand has locked around his wrist in a vice grip. Fingers dig into his flesh; when he instinctively tries to jerk away, the man holds fast, clicking his tongue.

“None of that. Now…” His fingertips graze, feather-light, over the mark. A shiver runs down Alex’s spine. When Caleb seeks out his gaze, he finds it impossible to turn his head; there’s no other place to look. Caleb’s eyes are like gleaming steel fishhooks; Alex is the minnow, thoroughly impaled.

“You don’t need to be frightened,” the showman chuckles softly. “I only want to give you your compensation. You played a great show tonight. All of you boys.”

“Not of our own free will.” He doesn’t mean to talk back — didn’t think himself brave enough — but the second the words are out, they just keep coming. “You… you did something to us, okay? We were like puppets out there to you! That wasn’t us playing, it was all — all you! In our heads!”

When Alex draws back, his eyes are bright with tears. Caleb isn’t daunted by this, or the ragged, half-panicked breaths which follow. His lips just quirk sideways. Alex feels very, very small.

“Oh, even _I’m_ not that powerful. I assure you… it wasn’t me in your head.”

He taps Alex’s temple lightly, with a single finger. A jolt of electricity rolls through his body — not painful, just weird. He shivers… and only then does Alex hear the music.

A jaunty, Big Band melody trills across the open rooftop. It catches his attention at once, resounding in his head like a personal speaker’s been set up between his ears. Alex swivels, seeking out the source of the noise. _Who the hell could be playing on a roof?_ His answer comes in the white-clad figure standing off to the side, and at once his blood runs cold. Caleb’s maître’d — the strange, silent one who eyed the boys like pieces of rare sirloin. Apparently he plays a mean violin, too.

“Here's the deal,” Caleb breezes on, as though they were in the middle of a casual conversation. “Every ghost has a source for their power. Usually, it’s what they cared about most in life. It’s what… makes them feel a little alive, you know, in spite of the obvious.” His lips curl at the corners. “ _Willie_ , for example, takes his power from skating. If he weren’t able to do that… well, what’s the point of an afterlife, am I right?” He chuckles, and something in Alex’s gut twists. He’s never wanted to punch someone more in his life, and he dealt with enough homophobic assholes back in high school. Caleb’s hand on his shoulder feels like the ultimate violation, but his grip is too firm to shake off. “You boys, now… _your_ power lies in music.”

The violin melody trills. Alex has never liked violin, never cared for it in his life… but something within him shivers, like butterflies in the pit of his stomach. He can’t explain it, aside from the certainty that it’s _wrong_.

“That’s how you controlled us,” he realizes. “With music.”

“It’s really not hard.” Caleb spins on his heel, clapping twice at the maître’d. The melody cuts off. Maybe it’s the lack of music, or the lack of Caleb, but Alex can suddenly breathe again. 

His only thought is escape. Two steps backwards, then he spins on his heel, taking in the roof’s ledge before him. Maybe — maybe he could leap down somehow, maybe there’s a lower roof within jumping distance —

“Now, now.” Caleb’s hands are suddenly locked around his shoulders again; his voice is a lyrical hiss in Alex’s ear. “You’re not foolish enough to do that.”

At once, all the tension drains from Alex’s body; his feet root themselves into the ground. He couldn’t move, even if he wanted to.

Caleb hums, tracing his fingers slowly along the side of Alex’s face, lingering at his temple. It’s all Alex can do not to flinch as a lock of his hair is tucked neatly back into place. “Not you. You’re the _smart one_ , aren’t you?”

Alex’s exhale comes out as a shudder. “De-depends on who you ask.” And the day, honestly.

"The low self esteem is actually quite charming, you know."

"Didn't ask _you."_

“Fair enough. Though Willie seemed to think quite highly of you.” 

A spark of rage ignites in Alex’s chest. If Caleb doesn’t stop tossing Willie’s name in his face — he’s never been a violent person, but the thought of harm coming to Willie at _this man’s hands_ sends him spinning around, lips curled back, eyes blazing.

Only when he finds himself locked firmly in unwelcome arms — now face-to-face — does he realize Caleb’s got him right where he wants him.

“As I was saying,” the showman says, flashing a gleam of blinding white teeth. “Compensation.”

The violin picks up at once — a different melody this time, low and smooth. It rolls through Alex like a tide, and he feels his body move with it. He doesn’t want to; whatever happens next isn’t under his control. Suddenly, his hand rests just below Caleb’s ribcage, and his feet move in tandem step with the showman’s as they begin to reel across the rooftops. Alex’s eyes widen — the one part of his body he can control — but the swell of panic does nothing to halt his unwilling momentum.

He learned to ballroom dance once, for his sister's eighth grade graduation party. The steps still come naturally, after all this time. It's like muscle memory, though his muscles aren't really doing it. He has no control over each light step, or the way his body sways with Caleb's own. They spin once around the rooftop, in perfect sync; the closer they come to the maître’d, the louder the music swells in Alex's head, enough to white everything else out. He nearly loses himself in it, in the dancing, the intimacy of Caleb's hand on his waist and their chests pressed so close together. It's nearly easy to imagine he's dancing with someone else, somewhere else...

But the maître’d's black-eyed gaze, trailing him across the rooftop, keeps Alex firmly anchored to reality. Even as his body doesn't work, his breaths come fast, halfway to complete panic.

Caleb chuckles, savoring the fear in Alex’s eyes. “You know, if the drumming thing doesn’t work out, we could always use you as a dancer. You’ve got a mean waltz.”

Alex manages to curl his lips back; his tongue remains stubbornly still, paralyzed in his mouth. A glare is the only defiance he can muster. Caleb just chuckles.

“See, my offer is really a generous one. When you boys play in my band, it will be one hundred percent consensual — every night! This _will manipulation_ thing really isn’t my forte… though it is fun to play with, from time to time. Flex the muscles, or else they’ll go rusty.”

Alex tries to glare at the maître’d as they reel past him; but Caleb’s hand finds his chin, and guides his gaze back.

“I can teach you how, if you like,” he murmurs. “Oh, I can teach you _plenty_ — there’s so much to being dead, Alexander, more than you could ever imagine. I can give you all the answers you’re looking for, and then some.” His head inclines slowly; every flicker of his gaze picks Alex apart at the seams, and it’s an agonizing process. “What’s there to fear in a world where you control everything? When you know how to control anyone, if you just figure out what makes them tick?” Caleb’s finger drums over Alex’s silk-clad breast, exactly where a heart should beat — _thump thump thump._ “Goodbye, worries! Goodbye, cares! Goodbye, being scared of the world…”

He leans in, close enough to rasp the words into Alex’s ear. “Hello, _power_.”

Every one of Alex’s instincts rebels all at once. In an abrupt twitch — practically a muscle spasm, involuntary aside from all the ways it’s not — he jerks Caleb away. The upswing of his arm nearly connects with the showman’s jaw, forcing him to leap back.

Suddenly, Caleb no longer looks like he’s having all the fun. His eyes narrow.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then.” He sighs, much louder than necessary. “Really, Alexander. I thought you were the sensible one.”

Alex doesn’t have a second to process that before Caleb spreads his arms with a sudden flourish. There’s a pop, a fizzle — and really, all the dramatics _isn’t necessary_ when ghosts can just poof anywhere — but when the smoke clears, Luke and Reggie are standing on the roof.

“What the —“ Luke immediately spits oaths that could sour a lemon, and make Caleb’s face pucker as though he's just bit one. Reggie spins on his heels, like a deer caught on a carousel. As soon as his gaze lands on Alex, his eyes practically pop out of his head.

“Look at that. Luke, Reggie, you’re finally here! And you’ve brought your instruments, how… _convenient_.”

“Alex!” Luke’s caught sight of him too now. “Are you okay?”

His first reaction, apparently to throw himself at Caleb like a rabid badger, is diverted. He rushes forward, reaching out to Alex — but a wave of Caleb’s hand stops him cold.

“Not so fast.” The magician clicks his tongue, as though Luke’s a disobedient child. Luke’s eyes flash towards him, incensed… but that’s the only part of his body he’s able to move. His arm is extended, body inclined forward, caught midway through running... but he can't take another step. He’s frozen in place, frozen in time. Alex’s stomach lurches when Caleb steps up to his helpless friend.

“Honestly,” he tuts, adjusting Luke’s collar once more. “ _You_ , at least, are predictable.”

Over Luke’s shoulder, Reggie catches Alex’s gaze. Panic is plain on his face; it screams louder than words ever could. He takes one stumbling step backwards, then hesitates. The urge to help is at war with his terror, and it’s hard to tell who’s winning. Discreetly, Alex shakes his head. Reggie rushing in will only make the situation worse… and probably get him hurt in the process.

“There’s too much fight in you,” Caleb continues, speaking directly to Luke’s frozen face. “Too much…” His lips curl. _“Life_. You see why I want you for my band now? Even on your own, your spirit is a force to be reckoned with.”

Slowly, Reggie inches across the rooftop, skirting behind Caleb’s back. The closer he gets, the dizzier Alex feels. Just to be back with his friends now, to be safe… he finds his hand twitching, reaching for Reggie as his bandmate edges closer.

Until suddenly — he turns. Jerking like a puppet on crooked strings, Reggie steps without hesitation towards the edge of the roof. Before Alex can even gasp, he’s climbed up onto the ledge.

“Reggie!”

 _Luke’s_ voice is the one to break the silence. As Caleb spins on his heel, he’s released from the paralyzing hold. Suddenly in control of his body again, momentum jerks Luke forward — though his feet remain anchored to the rooftop.

Reggie’s shoulders heave. He peers over the roof’s edge, and wobbles. A tiny moan slips past his lips. “Oh… man, we— we’re up high…”

“What are you doing, Reg?” Alex’s voice is very controlled, syllables clipped. 

It’s a sharp contrast to Reggie’s high-pitched panic. “I don’t know! I don’t know!”

“Get down from there!” Luke shouts.

“I _can’t!”_

“He can’t,” chimes in Caleb.

Luke rounds on him, snarling. “ _Let him down_ from there, you son of a —“

Caleb cuts him off with a short tut-tut. “Honestly, Luke. Let’s not resort to mud-slinging, shall we?”

“Or Reggie-slinging! Can we please, _please_ try to avoid Reggie-slinging? _Oh my god there are rocks at the bottom_ —“

“Reggie!”

Alex, the only one actually able to move, lurches forward… but a wave of Caleb’s hand holds him off. Not with power, but dread. _Get closer,_ his gleaming eyes say, _and we’ll find out how far that drop really is._

“I do hope you’ve been practicing your flying, Reggie,” Caleb calls, though his attention is back on Alex once more. He stalks slowly forward, like a silk-clad predator. Alex forces himself to stand his ground.

“Please,” he says quietly, once Caleb is close enough to hear. “Don’t hurt them.”

Caleb’s brows arch. “Any more than I already _have_ , you mean?” He rubs two fingers together, considering them like a tempting offer. “One good jolt would send poor Reggie over the edge. Oh, sure, the fall wouldn’t kill him… but it would hurt, wouldn’t it?” He chuckles low, and a chill rolls down Alex’s spine. Slowly, Caleb shakes his head. “But there are so many other ways to hurt a ghost, you know. Worse than killing them. Worse than… snuffing them out of existence completely.”

The violin — which has been playing softly this entire time, a low ebb of background noise — suddenly pitches, sharp and shrill.

Alex grimaces. A tiny firework of pain bursts in his head, darkening his vision. When it clears, he spots Luke, over Caleb’s shoulder, lifting his guitar.

“What are you doing?” he blurts out. Somehow, he knows this isn’t an escape plan — knows by Luke’s wide eyes, the way his arms tremble as they raise his instrument up high. “Luke?”

For once, Luke is struck speechless. Not by Caleb’s power, but from horror. His guitar looms over his head, held up by shaking arms. Any second threatens to bring it down — Luke’s precious guitar, the one his parents got him, smashing into pieces on the concrete rooftop.

“Luke, man, what are you doing?” Even Reggie sounds horrified, and _he’s_ teetering on the edge of the roof.

“I — I don’t know.” Luke’s voice is very small. His arms tremble again, and his eyes flutter. As the violin score pitches, his entire face screws up in pain. Whatever battle he’s fighting inside his own head, he’s losing; he just doesn’t have the energy to keep it up anymore, not after resisting Caleb so hard on stage.

Luke’s stronger than any of them, and even _he_ can’t fight back.

“Remember,” Caleb says with a flourish of his hands. “Every ghost has a source of their power. What they care about most. What they're bound to, even in death. For Willie — his skateboard.” (He sounds way too pleased by this fact; when Alex thinks of Willie and his beloved board, practically attached at the hip, his gut twists. _What did Caleb do to it?)_ “For you boys… your instruments. They’re practically your souls.”

Caleb takes a step back, the grip on his arm leading Alex along with him. His lips purse, head tilting. “Why don’t we see what happens when you smash the soul into pieces, hmm?”

“No!” Reggie shouts, his terror pitching over the shrill screech of the violin. Luke, putting every ounce of his power into not letting go, can’t even speak.

“Don’t,” Alex says softly. 

Caleb turns to look at him. “What was that?”

Luke’s arms tremble. Reggie wobbles on the rooftop. Alex’s throat is swollen with dread, but he somehow forces the words out anyways. “Don’t hurt them. We’ll do what you want.”

Slowly, Caleb turns to him. His eyes shine bright, bared teeth gleaming like bullets. The predator has gotten what he wants, and now gets to enjoy his prey.

“I need to hear you say it. A verbal agreement will do for now; we’ll put it in writing later.”

“Alex, no!” Luke forces out — but his voice is distorted with pain and stress, hardly him at all. Reggie’s sobbing. The violin is shrill enough to make their ears bleed. Alex wishes he couldn’t hear any of it — maybe, somehow, that would make it hurt less.

 _“Say it,”_ Caleb insists, ravenous.

Alex's eyes flutter shut... and somewhere in the dark, in the quiet, he _feels something._ A lone note reverbs in Alex’s chest. It rolls through him, activating every dead nerve and synapse in a wave of emotion . Sorrow, longing… but more than anything else, _grief_.

So tangible he can almost feel it… like they’ve sold their souls already.

It echoes; it lingers. Instead of dying out, the song plays on… and it sounds familiar. If he wanted, Alex could reach out and grab it, hold on to those (piano?) notes and let them pull him away. No one’s around them playing… but the more he focuses, the clearer he can hear it. A song, ringing in his soul, in his heart.

_Don’t blink, no, I don’t wanna miss it…_

Julie.

Reggie’s sobs cut off abruptly. When Alex looks up, Luke’s eyes have fluttered shut. Slowly, he turns his head, back to Caleb. He’s the only one unaffected, out of all of them; his expression hasn’t changed, not a single hint of anticipation leeched from his face. The music can't reach his ears.

Somewhere across the city, Julie is standing alone on the Orpheum’s stage. When he closes his eyes again, Alex can see her hazy silhouette through the smoke, feel the heat of stage lights on her head, hear the echo of her voice from miles away.

She’s waiting for them.

 _And it’s one, two, three, four times  
_ _That I try for one more night..._

“I’m sorry,” Alex says softly.

Caleb’s hand tightens, fingers drilling into his bicep.

The song keeps getting louder now, drowning everything else out. Alex can no longer hear the violin; when he meets Caleb’s eyes, he doesn’t feel a pull, a tug towards something cold and inevitable. Instead, he’s being dragged back by something stronger… a tide of hope.

 _Whatever happens,  
_ _Even if I’m the last standing  
_ _Imma stand tall!_

Alex’s shoulders straighten. His eyes narrow.

“I’m sorry for every soul under your power… for every innocent person you trap, threaten, and hurt. I’m sorry they ever crossed paths with you. I’m sorry for whatever deal you made, for _whatever’s_ keeping you from crossing over. I’d say I’m sorry you died, but… honestly?" His lips curl back. "I’m sorry you were ever born.”

In one swift movement, Alex reaches up, tearing the bow tie from around his neck (and _ow, okay,_ he didn’t anticipate that would actually hurt). It bounces off Caleb’s chest, and falls limp to the ground. By that point, Alex has already torn his jacket open too, and made quick work of the shirt — _to hell with buttons._

“Mostly,” he declares, “I’m sorry for your tacky-ass fashion sense. This is the twenty-first century, dude. Get woke.”

Caleb’s bellow of outrage fades into nothingness. Alex doesn’t hear it, doesn’t care — something is _pulling_ at him, and the moment he gives into it, he’s swept away. Not abruptly, like being jerked into Caleb’s song. This power is like the tide, steady and familiar, carrying him into shore.

When he opens his eyes, the Orpheum stage sprawls in front of him, and Julie’s glowing in the spotlight.

His sticks are already in his hands; he falls into playing like remembering how to breathe. It’s all muscle memory, and Julie’s relieved smile. Nothing else matters — even the fact that they’re playing the _Orpheum_ , the very place they were _meant_ to play, fades into the background with the sheer euphoria of being here. Being safe, being seen, being free… with _their band._

There’s no time to worry about the rest of the boys. Whatever the pull is, it’s stronger than any of Caleb’s magic. Within seconds, Reggie pops in between them. He’s ditched the awful red jacket — maybe over the edge of the Hollywood Ghost Club’s roof. His bass is strong, his chords smooth… without a trace of the terror from moments ago. A grin blooms on his face like it’s always belonged there, and Julie beams back. 

Alex’s own smile widens.

They’re almost here. They’re almost free.

 _Cause everything is rushing in fast…  
_ _Keep holding on, never look back!_

There’s a distorted flash from the lefthand stage. Luke, his face contorted in pain, here and gone again. Luke, out of energy, fighting the full force of Caleb’s power. Luke, determined and desperate.

Luke, always, _always_ fighting.

“I’m going out of my mind!”

They explode like fireworks. Color and light, the sweet pitch of Julie’s voice, all merging into one. The stage is alive. Luke, tangible and vibrant, rounds on Julie as they sing together. His guitar is in one piece, secure against his chest. When Julie bounces, her energy is electric. Luke’s melody trills, and Alex’s drumbeat picks up their energy.

Playing together is the most natural thing in the world. It brings them all to life, in ways that probably shouldn’t be possible. A heart beats staccato in his chest; each pulse of the song thrums in Alex’s veins, electrifying him. He _feels it_ in every nerve, every cell… 

“Never look back!”

And before he knows it, Alex has risen to his feet.

He’s not used to solos; they’ve never felt comfortable, he’s never been suited to having all eyes on him before. Up until tonight, _Stand Tall_ always daunted him _because_ of this moment… but there’s a fire in his chest. Looking out on the crowd, Alex feels it burn brighter and brighter. The warmth of his friends’ gazes, their radiant happiness, only adds fuel to the blaze.

“Whatever happens, even if I’m the last standing…”

He stands taller than he ever has before.

An electric show bursts at their backs, but the electricity on stage is even brighter. Luke is alive. Reggie’s in his element. Julie is _radiant_. As Alex makes his way downstage, to stand beside them for the final notes, he feels charged with an energy he can’t name, one that thrills far more than frightens him.

He only realizes his hand is shaking when it slips into Luke’s own. His friend grips tight, and offers Alex a fierce grin. _We won_.

And for a minute — standing on that stage, soaking in well-earned applause — it really feels like they have.

* * *

They play out the rest of their set, and vanish at the end the way they always do. If there’s a flash of regret on Luke’s face when the final curtain closes… well, Alex doesn’t dwell on it.

After Julie leaves them to catch up with her family, the boys poof back to the studio. Still high on adrenaline, there’s nothing to do but clap each other on the back and ride the wave. Reggie’s cheeks are flushed, and his hair's a mess as Alex pulls him into a hug. His arms lock around his ribcage, tight as a squid; it’s all Alex can do not to choke.

“We were _so freakin’ fly_ ,” Luke crows, bouncing up and down on the sofa. “They loved us! We set that stage on fire, did you _see_ the way they were cheering—“

“Finally,” Reggie laughs into Alex’s chest. “Finally!”

As he pulls away, Alex finds himself beaming. This joy is more than they could ever find playing anywhere else, with any other band. If he could just hold onto it forever — just exist in this moment, their perfect victory — he would.

But someone has to be the voice of reason. He hates that it’s usually him.

“So... when do we get to cross over?”

Luke stops jumping; Reggie goes still. They exchange glances, the joy slowly bleeding out of their faces, to be replaced by confusion.

“We — we haven’t said goodbye to Julie yet,” Luke fumbles. “Probably not till then.”

Reggie nods eagerly, seizing on any explanation… but a rock has settled in the pit of Alex’s stomach, growing heavier by the minute.

The three of them exchange glances —

And then it hits them.

Luke tumbles off the couch. Reggie is knocked clean off his feet, falling backwards through the coffee table. Somehow, Alex is the last one standing… and even he doubles over as the blinding flash of pain rips through them all.

In the aftermath, panting and clutching their chests, it’s all the boys can do to look at each other.

“It didn’t work,” Reggie realizes aloud.

Luke’s face goes pale, dread brimming at the corners of his eyes. Swallowing past a lump in his throat, Alex lowers himself to the ground to join his brothers.

His hand finds Reggie’s automatically. Luke takes longer to reach... but when Alex grips him, Luke responds with all the strength he’s got left.

If this is the way they go out, they’ll do it the way they’re meant to - meant to live, meant to play, meant to die.

Together.

Even Caleb can’t take that away from them.

**Author's Note:**

> haha, haha, hAH, we all know how the story ends, it's FINE
> 
> why do we not talk about the fact that caleb?? literally forces them to play? that he takes literal control of their bodies and makes them join in the musical number whether they like it or not?? it's not even played for a lighthearted kids show moment, the boys are genuinely terrified and trying to fight his control, and we just _don't talk about it, how powerful is caleb this concept had to be explored ---_
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [reggieshairflip](https://reggieshairflip.tumblr.com/)!


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